


Your Hand, My Mouth

by AVegetarianCannibal



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Car Sex, Face-Fucking, Hand Jobs, Hannigram - Freeform, M/M, Oral Sex, Post-Finale, Public Sex, Shower Sex, Will is obsessed with Hannibal's hands, Will still has a couple of issues, minimal plot, sometimes sex with cannibals is complicated
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-19
Updated: 2016-09-19
Packaged: 2018-08-15 21:35:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,761
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8073511
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AVegetarianCannibal/pseuds/AVegetarianCannibal
Summary: Always Will asked for Hannibal’s hand, and returned the favor with his mouth. Hannibal was perfectly amenable to this arrangement…until the night he wasn’t.





	

“I want your hand on me,” Will said as they fumbled in the back seat. He unzipped his fly and shoved Hannibal’s hand through. “Ah, there. Like that. _Harder_.”

Hannibal’s fingers were roughened from working on the house they’d ‘borrowed’ from an absentee landlord. The calluses almost hurt as his fingers squeezed and pumped, but deliciously so. When Will spurted all over that skillful hand not more than a minute later, the look on Hannibal’s face was…reverent. His eyes gleamed as if he’d spied heaven itself. He lifted his hand to his mouth and licked it clean.

With a growl, Will shoved at him, pushing him down onto the seat and straddling him as best he could. He yanked at Hannibal’s jeans, fingers scrabbling with the buttons. “Fuck it!” he snapped. “Why the _fuck_ did you get button fly jeans?”

“I wasn’t expecting—”

Will worked open enough of the buttons to get Hannibal’s cock into his hand and then into his mouth.

Whatever else Hannibal had been about to say was replaced by increasingly slurred incantations of Will’s name.

Then, after a shockingly short time, there was a strangled sort of gurgle, followed by a sticky hot bitterness in the back of Will’s mouth.

Will pulled off and tucked Hannibal back into his damnable button fly.

“I apparently needed that,” Will said.

“Apparently,” Hannibal agreed, somewhat breathlessly.

Will climbed back into the driver’s seat and turned the key in the ignition. He found himself humming the whole drive home and then, when they _got_ home, found himself not caring much at all that they’d forgotten to go to the market.

* * *

Will soon realized he’d opened something of a floodgate inside himself the instant he’d pulled Hannibal into the back seat. After that time—their first time—he wanted Hannibal as often as he could have him.

Hannibal, for his part, appeared to be perfectly amenable to whatever Will wanted, whenever he wanted it, and however often he wanted it. Which, as it turned out, was _very_ often.

There was one time that Will slipped into the shower with him, crowded him against the tile wall and bit kisses across his collar bones. When Hannibal started to go down on his knees, Will pulled him back up, saying, “No, like this.” Then he squirted conditioner into Hannibal’s palm and instructed him, “Make a fist for me,” which Hannibal did. Will fucked Hannibal’s slicked-up hand with frenzied urgency, grunting like a rutting animal, one foot braced on the tub’s edge behind him so he could drive himself harder and harder forward.

Then there was that time they actually _did_ make it to the farmer’s market, and Will asked Hannibal to jack him off behind an orange stand. There were dinners in restaurants when Will couldn’t wait to get that strong, rough hand on him and had Hannibal do him right under the tablecloth while they pretended to coolly sip their wine. There were frequent trysts in gas station bathrooms and men’s dressing rooms when they went get fitted for new suits. But usually they were at home, working on fixing the shutters or repainting something and doing nothing particularly sexy, except that _everything_ was particularly sexy. Always Will asked for Hannibal’s hand, and returned the favor with his mouth.

Hannibal was perfectly amenable to this arrangement…until the night he wasn’t.

Will had crawled into Hannibal’s lap while he was reading the paper and pushed it aside. “I have something better your hands could be holding,” he’d said.

And now Hannibal was bodily pushing him out of his lap, not even looking at him as he said, “I think I’ll turn in early tonight.”

Will stared in shocked disbelief as Hannibal padded down the hall and into his bedroom.

“Hey, are you all right?” he called out.

“I’m rather tired,” Hannibal called back. A moment later, the door closed with a thunk of finality.

* * *

The next morning, Will found Hannibal up bright and early, fussing about the kitchen as was his custom on the weekends. Or every day, really. He’d already squeezed oranges for juice and was well on the way to turning leftover brioche into _pain perdu_.

“I missed you last night,” Will said.

“Hm,” Hannibal said with the slightest huff.

Will frowned. “What do you mean ‘hm’? Do you not believe me or something?”

“Are you certain you didn’t just miss my hands?” Hannibal asked, holding up the egg whisk as if that illustrated whatever his point was. “Because you have two of your own if that’s all you want.”

Will frowned even harder. “Hannibal, what in the hell are you talking about?”

“Every time you’re aroused,” Hannibal started. “You come to me, pushing your penis into my hand like a dog insistently nosing for crumbs after a meal.”

Will felt his jaw drop open so quickly and with such force that he almost stumbled along after it. He could only splutter uselessly in the moments before he was able to speak again. “A–a dog! A _dog_! My penis! Is a _dog_! Sniffing for _crumbs_?!”

“ _You_ are the dog,” Hannibal said, and had the gall to roll his eyes. “Perhaps you should have some coffee, Will. In this simile, your erect penis is the dog’s _nose_.”

Will shook his head to rid himself of the mental image. “Just—just forget the similes and metaphors, okay? Hannibal, I don’t know what’s going on.”

Hannibal turned off the stove, put down his whisk and bowl. Will knew this meant shit was about to get serious. He steeled himself for whatever was about to come, and it was this:

“You’re afraid to let me fellate you.”

Will blinked, and blinked again. “Huh?”

“To put it bluntly,” Hannibal said, “you don’t trust this cannibal to give you a blow job.”

With that, he bunched up his apron, threw it onto the counter, and stormed off to his bedroom.

* * *

Will allowed himself the rest of the morning to fume—a dog’s nose!!—before finding a quiet spot in the woods behind the house. There he sat, in a clearing of gold-green ferns, and asked himself, “What in the hell is my design?”

He wiped away the house with its freshly painted shutters, the car parked in the driveway, cleared away every bit of the woods and even the loamy soil dampening the seat of his pants. Only a featureless white background remained, gauzy and soft, slowly gaining shadows and ripples into some of it coalesced into the sheets on Hannibal’s bed.

He found himself lying in the middle of it, stark naked, writhing a little in anticipation.

“Hannibal, I want your hand,” he whispered, and just like that, Hannibal was there beside him, strong fingers circling his cock. “But–but I also want the truth. _Please_.”

Hannibal stretched out beside him, stroking idly, and whispered something in his ear.

Will listened intently for a while, then sighed. “Oh,  _damn_.”

* * *

 

Will knocked on Hannibal’s door. “I need to talk to you. I…need to tell you the truth.”

After a few moments where Will could almost hear him pouting, Hannibal spoke. “Come in, then.”

Hannibal was sitting up in bed, a book open in his lap.

“The truth,” Will said, “is that your hands can kill and mend, compose music, fix shutters and whip up a zabaglione—sometimes all in the same day.”

“Will,” Hannibal started to say.

“Let me finish,” Will said.

He pulled off his T-shirt and pushed his pants down around his ankles before stepping out of them. He was still half hard from his little truth-finding mission as he climbed up onto the bed. He plucked up the book and tossed it to the floor, then took its place in Hannibal’s lap.

“The truth,” he went on, “is that I find your hands sexy as hell.”

He draped his arms around Hannibal’s neck and leaned in for a kiss. The merest moment later, he felt those hands sliding up his bare ass. He moaned softly into Hannibal’s mouth, but forced himself to pull back before he lost track of what he wanted to say.

“But it’s also the truth that you’re right,” he said. “Killing Francis with you, choosing to be with you, accepting you and us—it doesn’t just erase the fact that you tried to actually eat me once. And, no, don’t apologize, if that’s what you were thinking.”

Hannibal squeezed his ass. “I wasn’t.”

Will snorted. “Just lie down, would you? Come on, scoot.”

Hannibal did as he was told, sliding down in the bed until Will could straddle his chest.

Hannibal looked up at him with glassy eyes. “Will, what are you doing?”

“What’s it look like I’m doing? I’m gonna feed you my dick. Open up.”

Again, Hannibal obeyed, licking his lips quickly before Will pushed the head of his cock past them.  He went endearingly double-chinned, and then triple, as he stretched his jaw to take all of Will. Will, for his part, took his time sliding all the way in, bumping the tight, wet silk of the back of Hannibal’s throat, before slowly pulling back out to let Hannibal flick the tip of his tongue at the slit. His balls dragged across Hannibal’s rough stubble.

Will tried to savor the whole experience, truly he did. He wanted to make it last and last, wanted to go at it until his thighs grew too tired to hold him upright, but seeing Hannibal prone like that, vulnerable and powerful all at once, just _really_ made him want to fuck that beautiful face right into the mattress. Even when Hannibal gagged taking the full length of him, he still held tight to Will’s hips and ass, kneading and pulling him back in after every slippery slide out.

When he came, it was with a choked cry and shakingly hard down Hannibal’s throat. He barely even registered bumping his head on the headboard when he pulled out and slid off Hannibal’s chest.

“Oh, Jesus,” he panted, blinking to clear his vision. “Oh _God_ , oh fuck. I should have done that sooner.”

“Yes, you should have,” Hannibal said, smacking his lips.

“If you give me a minute, I’ll return the favor,” Will said.

“I’ve already done it,” Hannibal said, nudging him with his elbow.

Will glanced down the length of Hannibal’s body and saw his hand still lazily stroking his slowly softening cock through the fly of his pants.

“That was quick,” Will said.

“You know for yourself,” Hannibal said, sounding pleased as hell. “My hands are _very_ talented.”

**Author's Note:**

> http://avegetariancannibal.tumblr.com/post/150611091524/hannigram-fic-your-hand-my-mouth


End file.
